Subject: Unknown
by Victoria18Carlton
Summary: Leonard McCoy has lost everything. Years ago he was a doctor, but that seems like another life. Now he is forced to work as an assasin, and he only has one rule: he will know nothing about the subject. About the target. (Alternate Universe - Chekov/McCoy)


McCoy walked into Kirk's office. "What is it now?" he asked before his superior could speak. "I thought we agreed, no more this month." "The circumstances have changed." McCoy's expression changed as he realised what Kirk meant. "You mean you found him?" Kirk nodded. His face was as stone-like and expressionless as it always was. He hated his profession as much as McCoy did, but neither of them had a choice. Not anymore anyway. "How?" "One of the blockers on his last transmission failed. We traced him, he doesn't know. His name is - " McCoy held a hand up to cut Kirk off. "I don't want to know. I don't want to anything about him accept where he is. You know the deal, I find them, I shoot, I leave." "Fine," Kirk replied curtly. "If that's the way you want it, that's fine. Only this time, you can't shoot from a distance. You have to go in there." "What?!" McCoy cried. This wasn't part of his contract. "I'm not going inside. I normally shoot from a long distance so I don't have to see them." "I know, but this isn't normal. We can't run the risk of him escaping. You need to be certain he's dead." McCoy sighed. "Surely there's someone more qualified, someone who normally shoots up close and personal." He was clutching at straws now. "No-one I trust enough." Kirk moved from behind the desk. "I'm sorry, Leonard." McCoy winced at the sound of his first name, his former name. "This isn't fair to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all that. This is a desperate time."

McCoy burst into the apartment. A figure across the room scrambled under a desk as he fired, and then darted into the next room as he pulled the trigger again. "Dammit, he's fast," McCoy muttered under his breath. He padded across the living room and turned, facing the doorway of the bedroom. He listened for any signs of any traps, but he couldn't hear anything, so he rushed into the room. He saw the figure attempting to clamber out of the window, so he fired his third shot, hitting the target in the hand. He cried out and crumpled to the floor, nursing his injured hand. McCoy stood over him, he would have to see who he was sometime. The figure looked up and McCoy got a good look at him. "My God, you're just a kid!" The boy's blue eyes widened in fear. "How old are you?"  
"Sewenteen."  
"You're only seventeen years old?" McCoy asked. The boy nodded. "Seriously?" Another nod. "What's your name?"  
"Pavel Chekov," The boy replied, still clutching his bleeding hand. "Please, don't kill me. Please. I'm sorry for vat I did, I vas only trying to help people."  
"You exposed secrets of the Organisation, you must have known that someone would come after you." McCoy felt sorry for this kid, but he had a job to do.  
Pavel bowed his head in fear and shame. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

McCoy saw the severity of the boy's injured hand. "Let me see that," he said. Pavel drew further away from him. "It's okay, I'm a doctor, or I used to be." Warily, Pavel moved his hand forward. McCoy examined it. "You need to go to a hospital, if you can find one."  
Pavel's head jerked up, and he looked at McCoy. "You're not going to... You're letting me live?"  
McCoy smiled. "You're only a kid, I have a - " He paused. "I used to have a daughter your age."  
Pavel stood up carefully, not taking his eyes off of McCoy. "Zank you, zank you," he said quietly, the gratitude apparent in his voice. "I'm really - " He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence.

A bullet flew through the open window and smacked into Pavel's back, where it stayed. He fell forwards onto the floor, next to McCoy. "Oh God, no. Please no," McCoy cried as he turned the boy over. He was dead. Of course he was dead, there were snipers all around the building. The kid was never going to get out of there alive. Nevertheless McCoy whispered, "Come on kid, wake up. Please wake up." He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. He was too young. He was something special. McCoy cradled the boy in his arms, waiting for the inevitable. He had defied his orders. His bullet was imminent.


End file.
